Metis
by pumkkin
Summary: This is an OC fanfic of The Matrix. There will be more chapters, i just want to see what everyone thinks of it. Rated M for epic swearing and American beatdowns. Enjoy :D
1. Chapter 1

**Hello Metis.**

I woke at exactly 9:42am. Again. I had fallen asleep at the computer. Again. My nose had been pressed against the z button for three hours. Lol.

The bags under my eyes were dripping down my face and the chicken from last night was making flying friends. Sleep was my enemy, and my only weapon was coffee, and can after can of Dr. Pepper. With this much caffeine, what's the worst that could happen? Death. One day I'll laugh at death (not that he gets it easy or anything) and hopefully that day will be after today, after I have become the most brilliant computer genius of all time! [Insert evil laugh here].

The phone rings and the door bell goes at the same time. I pick up the phone and press the little green phone sign button and answer 'hello?' Before phones were invented, the word hello did not exist. It was created so you'd have something to say to start the conversation. And it has an upward inflection, which is extremely annoying sometimes.

"Hey Metis, how's it going?"

"Hey Apollo, it's alright. What's going on?"

As Apollo starts ranting about his day, I press my fingers over the speaky end of the phone and shout "Who is it?" to the person outside. I should really invest in a peep hole, but knowing me it'll go in the wrong way round and someone will shoot me in the eye through it.

I make 'mmhmm' sounds into the now uncovered end of the phone, as a slip of paper slides under the door. Holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder, I make approving noises and read the note.

_Metis. The blind one's eyes._

I sigh at the sub-par coding. And putting my hack name on the paper. If any authorities knew I was Metis then I would never see sunlight again. Not that being a computer nerd ever gets you any of that vitamin D anyways. I walk to my computer desk and pull out a draw. I find my copy of The God Delusion (a really big edition for almost blind people) and open it. The old hollowed out book trick hasn't failed me yet. I push aside my father's handgun (he was a pig in the 60's) a wad of dirty twenties, a half empty (or half full?) bottle of '87 Scotch whisky, again my fathers, and come across my money earners, memory sticks and floppy disks and hard drives packed on top of each other. I pull out a stick with a little drawing of the eye of Osiris, or Horath or something, and close the book.

Still mumbling along to Apollo's rant about today's youth which had stemmed from miniature banana's somehow, I opened the front door with the stick wrapped in foil (drugs is better than hacking. Seriously you get less time if you're caught as with hacking you're a threat to national security and all) and he passes me a wad of dirty bills, puts the package in his pocket and stares at me for a moment before I shut the door on his face. I re-open the book and put the notes in there, taking about a hundred quid out for food (food meaning a couple of bags of Cheetos and Funions and take-away's and a hell of a lot of Dr. Pepper. Real stoner food). I replace the book in its drawer and slump in my faux leather computer chair and open another can of Dr. Pepper. I take the phone in my hand and push the speaker phone button.

"... and that's why I'm never taking you to Jerry's surf and turf ever again. You didn't have to tip the waiter afterwards, seriously it was scarring enough."

"Yeah yeah yeah I hear you Ap. How's the missus anyways?"

"Bitchin again, I swear she has had the worst PMS for like three months now, all she does is eat and the mood swings are makin' me tear my hair out. Be glad when it's over."

Ap is such a tool. Give him a computer and he'll scan the world for what you need, but give him a real life situation and it's a serious case of facedesk.

"You are such a twat Ap, I think you should ..."

Another knock at the door, guessing it's the code noob again.

"... I'll call you later mate. McTarded is back. Speak to the parakeet, and the parakeet shall speak back."

I push the end call button and shuffle over to the door. Da Vinci knocks again. Maybe he doesn't know how to put a memory stick into a computer. Jesus H. Christ.

I pull the deadbolt out and before I've even taken my hands off it I'm flying on my ass then my elbow and my head, skinning myself on the old vinyl floors. I crash into my computer chair, which then proceeds to knock my Dr. Pepper all over my (almost) freshly washed hair. Five men storm my pokey bedsit, turning over delicately stacked piles of documents, tapes, black floppy disks, books, DVD's, CD's and records. I knew this day would come, but I thought it would at least have come after five when I'd done my highly paid job. Ce la vie.

I've always said that if I'm going in, I aint going quietly. I reach up and find my drawer, my special gun filled drawer, and pull it out, sending my finest work all over the floor. Not the gun though. I stand up with the gun cocked in my hands, aimed straight at one very still looking man who seems to be the scout leader or something.

"Who the fuck are you? MI5? MI6? Ministry of Defence? No? Don't tell me your some American twats? Does the Queen even know your here? I doubt that the Queen has any knowledge of your infiltration! Now get the fuck out you Yankee mother fuckers!"

I didn't know they had guns. I didn't even see him draw the magnum. All I felt was the bullet penetrating my skin, muscle tissue, fat, embedding itself within my bone before exploding out the other side and tearing up my tendons. I fell again with an almighty bang, and there was lots of nasally annoying noise that I didn't realise it was me shouting until the gun echo had worn off.

"ARGG! YOU SHOT ME IN THE FOOT! YOU CUNT! YOU CUNTING CUNTY CUNTERTONFACE! FUCK! FUCK YOU! YOU YANKEE SON OF RONALD MCDONALD!"

"Miss Glass, I would suggest you calm your voice, as it would be an awful shame if your neighbours were to see this."

Yep. Definite yank.

"YOU SHOT ME IN THE FOOT HOW CAN I BE FUCKING CALM YOU GRANNY BASHER? GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"

"Unfortunately I can't do that, and you, Metis, are coming with us."

I'd dropped the handgun just inches away from my bleeding body, and as I grabbed and cocked it again I heard the cocking of five more guns aim at my head. Crumbs.

"Now now Metis, I don't want to have to shoot your other foot. Be a good girl and co-operate."

Shit. I was down, my gun wasn't even loaded and they knew my hack name. Bye bye sunlight.

My foot was starting to hurt quite a bit (the pain was unbearable, like getting shot in the foot) and I couldn't exactly go anywhere, so the suits handcuffed me and carried me to the (undercover?) police car, in which I bled everywhere, so sucks to be them.

By the middle of our magical journey I began to feel increasingly nauseous and faint.

"Hey ... um I'm gonna throw up. Just an FYI. Then I might pass out. So hospital? I'd really love to walk again if you don't mind."

A swift swerve to the right caused my Dr. Pepper and Tesco's finest tortilla chips to come rushing back to the real world. Luckily the burly guy sat next to me had opened the door just in time, as well as the driver breaking in time. Although it would have been pretty bad to have sat in the car with it, I wouldn't have minded throwing up in the car, especially over the suit's shiny black shoes. Of course this only ran through my mind later, as I proceeded to pass out on said suit's lap.


	2. Chapter 2

I awoke to what I was guessing was a few hours later, I a white padded jail cell with a bed and pillow in it. My foot was in a massive plaster cast and felt tantalizingly numb. I hopped over to the door and peered through a little peep hole in the middle. One of the suits was stood right outside, and was looking into the hole. You could see through it both ways.

"Hey! ... Suit guy? I'm awake now. I want my phone call man; I'll get my lawyer on your arse!"

The suit didn't move, and I knew it was because everyone who has ever laid eyes on me knows that I'm not rich enough to pay nine hundred quid an hour for a lawyer. (I get paid a lot for computer info, but not that much.) That's more than my tri-monthly rent! What. World. Coming. Too?

I hear footsteps coming from the end of the squeaky white hall, and I see one suit giving the other suit a little nod. The manly man who stood guard pissed off down the hallway in the direction the other guy had just come in, walking briskly. Through the little slit in the door I saw my reflection in the guys sunglasses. I stare at my own reflection, hoping that behind those sunglasses were actual eyes, and I was giving him my awesome 'I'm not at all happy with you' look.

Emotion. He smirked. At me? How dare he! Once I got out of there I swore I would find his facebook and gay-hack it until his wife divorced him.

He came right up against the hole in the wall, staring at me with his sunglasses. Click! A key goes in the lock and I step (hobble?) backwards, leaving the door to swing out on its well oiled hinges. He stalked in, and I felt the sudden urge to sit down. As to try and stop from pissing myself in his presence. Eyeless people are very intimidating. I buckle under pressure. You should have seen me when I had to get some crappy award in secondary school for 'Excellence towards the school', and I had to make a speech about how I couldn't have done it without the guidance of my teachers, and the technology equipment available for my usage on the property. Truth is my teachers didn't have a clue what to do with me as every time they let me near a computer on school grounds I would hack into the software security system with a virus that made every Google, ask Jeeves, every Wiki search come up with the kinkiest porn ever created. That was a hoot in biology. Anyway don't imagine everyone in their underwear, it just turns out like that dream where you go to school with no clothes on and everyone laughs at your mosquito bite boobs. And then you vomit on the chief administrator.

"Annie Glass, 5'5, 107lb, graduated from Greenage C of E secondary school before going to Traverse Computing and Math College. You then spent two years internship at the South West Electronic Development Company, before taking a Master's (with honours) in computer programming and software development from Exeter University. You were then offered a developers job at Apple Software, before accepting, then refusing, to work in a Starbucks. Well, Miss Glass, I'm impressed."

"I get around."

"The fact you managed to elude us for eleven years and (almost) hack into a government database that only four people in the world are aware of. Operation Swan has been kept under wraps for sixty years without a single threat. Then suddenly we find a hole in the Level 6 Firewall. You created that hole. That interests us greatly."

Ah feck they knew about my 5'o clock. I'm not going to like the bends.

"Look Magnum P.I, I don't know what's going on. My home was broken into; I was shot in the foot, thanks for that by the way, kidnapped from my home, locked in what I can only call a loony's cell. I don't know where I am, who you or your suity blunt men are, and I don't know why you've got me? I didn't do it, no harm done."

He smirked again. I don't like that. I don't like a lot of things.

"Because you are the closest person in the modern computerised world who has come even close to hacking the government database. Unfortunately, our best programmes cannot get into this, blockades, firewalls, disabling software all catch us out. We need in. We need you!"

"Do I get paid?"

"You can keep your life."

"I'll do it mister!"

I hope he saw the sarcasm on my face; he wouldn't be able to kill me, he knows it, I know it, Mrs. Tunis next door knows it. His sunglasses stare at me, scrutiny.

"Fine. We know who's after you, and believe you will be the path to them."

"Hey. I 'aint helping you. Find someone else for the job."

I lay on the provided bed, close my eyes in defiance. I can hear his face screwing up, a little grunt escaping his throat. Annie 1 Crazy Sunglasses guy 0. Or at least I thought so. Machine like hands grip my neck and I find myself choking. I see the emotion drift from his face as the colour drifts from mine. I melt in with the bed. I thrash as my eyes swell in their sockets, the blood cells expand in my head. My foot screams in pain but I ignore it as the fight for survival becomes my sole purpose. Suddenly my mind starts working again. It'll hurt like fuck, but if it'll save me...

I twist my oxygen deprived body around under his hands, my mind screaming as the lack of life threatens to take over. CRASH! My voice screams its last scream at the foot cast whacks into the sunglasses dude's head, right on the temple. He crumples on me, his hands freeing my neck, but the force of the swing sends me flying to the floor. I pass out, but not before I see his now awake body stand, and his machine hands reach for my neck.


	3. Chapter 3

I woke up to a phone ringing. My hand reaches out from under my duvet and grabs it from the messy bedside table.

"Hello?"

"Hey Metis how ya feelin?"

"Like shit. Everywhere hurts. Why you callin at ..." I look at the digital clock, and groan. " ... 5:14 am. Seriously Apollo what you doing? This early? Nothings good on TV at this time."

"I've been callin since you got off the phone with me Tuesday, where the hell you been?"

"I must have fallen asleep or something."

"For three days? You must have sugar crashed bad." He sniggered at my pain. I don't like that.

"Arg you still coming over today, we were supposed to do manly things, watch terminator, drink beer eat pizza and do D.I.Y and shit... wait three days?"

"Yeah."

"So you're not bringing the beer?"

"You're such a twat." He hung up at that point. I wanted to hang up on life. I shuffled closer to the edge of the bed, and slipped out from under the covers. A scream rang shrill in the early hours of Friday morning. My foot was in a cast.

It was a dream. It had to be. How the hell did I wake up alive if it wasn't? In my bed? Why would they make such a big scene kidnapping me to just sneak me back into my place and tuck me in for the night? Damn my foot hurt like hell. Maybe that didn't happen. Maybe I fell down some stairs, got knocked out, broke my foot and had a weird dream. Maybe they gave me loadsa drugs so I can't remember 'coz I'm such a lightweight. Then maybe my mum or brother drove me home and put me to bed. Yeah, that's a real good story. But who am I telling it to? Myself? I know what happened. I got shot in the foot and killed. The first parts right but what about the second half? I'm not dead? Unless this is heaven and church has been lying (for the first time ever *gasp*)!

I clock the crutches standing by my bed and grab them. I hop into the kitchen and make myself some tea. Except no milk in the fridge (well there is but the expiration date was 92), and I used the last of my sugar when me and Ap, Sioux, Mini Tubbs and Roachy were high as fuck in my bedsit, and to wake ourselves up decided to eat it. Except Roachy was in the bathroom when we decided this (he was in there for like a half hour), so we told him it was crack. Epic lol's. He was sneezing sweetness for days.

I hopped back to my bed, balancing the tea carefully on random stacks of shit that were in an arm's length and crashed out. It was now 5:23am. My mind swirled like a washing machine on an 8 spin. If I died, like how I dreamed, then I wouldn't be here. I would obviously be dead, roaming the halls of Michel Jackson's mansion. But if that part didn't happen, then none of it could have happened, but that was faulted by the fact my foot was clad in plaster. Maybe part of it happened, and when I passed out on the guys lap I imagined the whole robot murderer sunglasses episode, and they brought me back. But why would they bring me back after going to quite a bit of a kerfuffle to get me to go with them. Shooting me in the foot... No need I say; no need. It was all extremely confusing and brain cell splitting, so back to sleep. I reached over to by bedside table and grabbed a couple of sleepers off the side, threw them back with the tea and put my head back on the pillow. The sleepers would take a while, so I popped the TV on, for background noise and such. BBC1 was always a goodun for droned voices talking about condensation, the mating habits of the koala bear and such. Nice and peaceful. I feel my eyelids drooping when the 'every ten fucking minutes with the same load of shit' news comes on. I groan a little, and turn over, my cast twizziling with me. I fall asleep for a couple of hours, and wake up at 11:02, and the damn news is still on.

"... and that's how Alfred the Alpaca saved the lives of 14 blind and deaf school children. Up next, we have a live report on the eighteen hour standoff between Government wanted computer hacker Tyrone Banks and an armoured squad team. We now go live to Ollie Williams who is at the scene. Ollie."

"Thank you Kirsten. As you can see behind me there are already eighteen police patrol vehicles, and well as thirteen armed to the teeth swat members. It has been reported that Mr. Banks, hack name Kronos, is armed, and he has been reported to shouting through what appears to be a police issue megaphone 'you've got to get out. You have to escape. The matrix has you. Find the rabbit hole ...'" Shots.

"It appears that Mr. Banks began to open fire on the swat team, who have shot the man. Initial reports say that he is dead. Brining you live on location news, I'm Ollie Williams, back to you in the studio."

"Thank you Ollie. Now for you local news in your area ..."

I drift back off into a black sleep, and wake up in the late afternoon. I pick up my phone and dial Ap's number. It rings three times.

"Hello?"

"Alright mate what's going on?"

"Hey Annie. Um, I can't really talk right now. Me and the missus ... um ... shit."

"She finally told you then?"

"Yeah... Christ. What should I do?"

"Gary, look. You may be a twat, but you're a twat in love, so go out and buy a cot and stuff and support her. If you wanna talk I'm only a call away. £7.50 an hour and only between the hours of 10 and 5. Weekend's extra."

I hear nervous laughing on the other end of the phone.

"Oh dear... anyway what's going on with you? You hear about that maniac on the news, the hacker?"

"Yeah a bit, I was trying to sleep though. Dead now anyway. I'm ok. Foot hurts."

"Why does your foot hurt?"

"I think it got shot at. I don't know dude, I'll ask him."

"Are you sure? Why would anyone shoot you in the foot?"

"Exactly. I dunno, maybe someone laced my mushroom soup with magic or something. That was the last thing I ate before the whole shooting happened."

"Did you make it yourself?"

"Yeah. Only thing I can make really. Why?"

"I may have left a couple on the side when you, me and Mini Tubbs were all doing them a while back."

"Then I broke my foot. Must have fallen down the stairs again."

"Yeah, probably. Why don't you give Sioux a call? She'll probably help you out and that."

"Yeah might do. Talk later Gary."

Click.

I think about calling Sioux, a fellow Dr. Pepper enthusiast, but decide against it after dialling the first couple of numbers. She's a love, but she can annoy the hell out of me. Small Sioux doses. Maybe Roachy will bring weed. Take the pain away.

It rings 6 times.

"Alright Anansie? What's goin on?"

"Fancy coming over? I got a need for therapy."

"Shit, yeah I would love, but, ah shit, I'm all out. I aint much fun without the gange like. I'll call you later."

Click.

Weird. Skunk always likes to come over. Likes to watch me work. Likes me to cook for him. Likes to look at porn on my computer. (All quotes.)

There's a knock at the door. I sigh, grab my crutches and hobble over to the door. I open it. I should invest in a peep hole. Seriously.

Two men and one woman clad in black storm my flat, knocking me to the ground. I feel a crack of pain shoot up from my toes to my knee, and I scream out as they close the door. I'm surprised Mrs. Tunis hasn't complained to the landlord with all the recent commotion.

The woman picks me up with intense ease (Alright I may be small but she treated it like I was a rag doll or something). I am seated in a chair while one man searches through my files. The other stares at me through his sunglasses.

Once they have looted my flat, they stare at me. The woman goes outside for a moment, and comes back with a terrible machine.

"Metis. Hold still."

What is it with all of these YANKS!

"Hell no! I already got shot in the foot by you fuckers I aint gonna get violated by you either. I wanna keep my insides the way they are!"

It was stupid. I don't remember doing it really, apart from that fact that I did do it. Sometimes I think I'm way too impulsive, but it's very simple animal instincts to escape anyway you can when faced with a threat. The whole 'fight or flight' theory. Possums play dead. Maybe I should try that manoeuvre next time. Despite my foot smarting slightly (ARRG!) I made a dash/stumble for the still open door. I think I almost made it, before one of the guys grabs my arm. I spin round and aim a fist for his face. Before I know it I'm being carried on the guys shoulders, my left arm twisted uncomfortably. He throws me on the bed and I scurry into the corner, trying to press myself into the wall, so I can disappear, so I can get off this mother fucking TRIP!

Melt. Just melt into the wall. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt. Melt.

"Calm down Metis, we are not here to hurt you."

I suddenly realise I'm hyperventilating.

"Then put that thing down!" I gasp between gasps.

I pointed to the machine the woman was holding. By this point I was having a nervous breakdown and really fancied some cheese. Never again would I take anything hallucinogenic, if only this shit would stop.

The guy turns to the woman, then turns back to me.

"Metis, this will not touch you. We need to check if you're bugged. It will only scan you for electronic devices. Nothing more."

I stared at them. It was the first time I'd actually looked at them properly. There was one black guy and one white guy. The chick was white too. Very manly face, you could tell even with the shades. I didn't want to trust them (the fact was I had nowhere to go, I was surrounded by Men In Black II), but if they weren't butchering me with rusty spoons then they were slightly nicer than the other group of Cub Scouts. I nodded, and the woman placed the machine on the bed in front of me, making me wince. My cast foot was dragging the entire leg down, making it hurt in almost any position, including this one.

The machine looked like a portable sewing machine, and sounded like a quiet drill. Or an electric toothbrush. Everything went extremely electrified for a few seconds, as if a thunderstorm was brewing. My collar bone jolted with a stabby stabby pain, and my hand went to it, but before I had even touched my own skin, the white guys' fingers clenched my wrist, right on the rapid thump of my pulse, he slowly PUT HIS HAND THROUGH MY SKIN!


End file.
